Plus Ten
by Orbital Debris
Summary: In which Cato realizes he is a sympathetic murderer. That reality is complex and that things aren't as simple as what they have always appeared to be. Cato's POV. Eventual Cato/Katniss. RATING CHANGE
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First time writing in 1st person!**

**For the record Cato doesn't carry a sword in this story; instead he's using a flail/morning star. That is, a flail-like weapon (with the handle and chain) connected to the star.  
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**It's AU. Meaning, I derive from the original work but go on a completely new direction with new details (some of what's written might not coincide with how things go in the book/s).**

**Either way, hope you guys enjoy and leave some feedback!**

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It's all or nothing.

Night has fallen and there's a hot sticky breath against the side of my neck. If I hadn't already been trained to shove it aside, I'm sure I'd be taken by terror. Somewhere deep inside my chest fear still flickers faintly, an awful illumination I can barely dodge. Or the consequences of my split second of inaction, which ram me square in the ribs. Literally.

I should have known better. But these last couple days or nights have more difficult to withstand. Ever since… ever since Clove _died_, a painful realization dawns, one which costs seconds of reaction time, long enough for the muttation's gigantic limb to crash onto me again. This time it catches a section of my torso and knocks a huge whoosh of air out of my lungs. How am I still alive? I'm not exactly sure, but luck has nothing to do with it.

I push to stand just in time to get smacked again. If I didn't already have internal damage, I'm pretty sure I might have now. I almost panic. My heart thuds, blood rushes and I really can't stop and think about it. I can't consider anything but victory, getting out of this damned hellhole alive.

A claw makes it through my cheek at the same time a rush of adrenaline shoots up my arms and the feeling of dread grows heavier, overwhelming. "Fuck." If the burning sting wasn't enough to nearly overpower me, I can now taste the metallic pang of blood swirling in my mouth.

I raise my flail to break the creature's paw aside; however, I'm not dexterous enough to avoid the hit. I feel as the flesh is neatly cut apart, like a hot knife would've done through butter. It almost doesn't hurt, though I'm not fortunate enough to have the 'almost' on my side. It's too sharp, too clean. But it's definitely not without blood or pain. Oh no. I don't see, as much as sense it gushing down the side of my face.

I think I grunt, annoyed. Perhaps it's more of a groan than anything else. It's difficult to tell through the frustration and the ache that starts to build up. But in the end, such a thing is not what is going to stop me. I'm making sure of it already by countering its moves:

I swing my arm forward, twist my wrist and aim to hit the dog across its head. And despite the danger creeping around me I am pretty damn aggravated to realize that the beast is down already. _Fuck me._

Suddenly, as soon as it had started, the dog falls aside and I look over my shoulder to see where an arrow has impaled its skull to the ground. I observe as the beast tries to escape its death hold. They, the dogs, these monsters, aren't natural. I've learned that, at some point, a couple years ago. It's difficult to remember with any sort of precision now. But I don't need to, after all what sort of animal would be able to keep moving after having their brain skewered through?

Though, it's not like I have any time to spare it a second glance, or thought, before confusion takes me over. _Why would she do this?_

I watch as the mutt finally slumps dead beside me. There's only one other tribute alive capable of having done this. So. _Why?_

My eyes dart across the dimness and that's when I take notice of many other mutations, in the distance. _Oh hell_. I have to grant her that this - attracting them to me - is a pretty smart move and a strategy that I hadn't even thought she'd use, much less against me. I know she has the guy wrapped around her little finger and that's a petty game. This, however, is nothing of the sort.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I cry, outraged and taken wholly by the sensations around me: mostly pain and an unfaltering urge to put my legs to good use and flee the scene. "I'm gonna gut you, bitch!"

The fact that I don't actually have a sharp weapon on me and that slashing someone open with a morning star is pretty difficult barely crosses my mind at this point.

Because my half assed excuse for a plan: to hope that the creatures would kill every other tribute, has been thwarted. I have been foiled by her _little_ archery skills and there's no time to waste at all if I want to preserve my living state for long enough to make her pay.

I wheeze and try to not choke on my own blood. One dog, sure, I can take it. But there are a lot more of them circling me now. A full pack of at least ten, twenty, maybe more damn huge, salivating beasts are making their way towards me, where I stand, completely vulnerable on the floor. They seem to have been attracted by its comrades dying growls, or maybe just the stench of its rapidly decaying guts smeared on the ground, where the fallen dog has managed to slash itself wide open. Disgusting. The grass used to be green, but it's somewhere between pitch, inky black and thick crimson now.

"I'm going to get you!" I shout again, and it sounds every bit as angry as I feel at the moment. If either the girl or loverboy, whatever his name had been, are listening at all, then they don't seem to mind my fury.

They're too far behind for me to see their forms or listen to their reply. Not that I can force myself to care. Not when I know what they have in mind: my gory death. I am thinking exactly the same thing as the monstrous creatures draw closer. I should be trying to imagine an escape route in my head, instead, for some obnoxious reason, my eyes and mind focus on how the dogs stalk around me, in slow circles. I am hard pressed to not try and just try to make a break through. Very hard pressed. _Fucking hell._

I run with the flail's blunt end trailing behind my head, though I don't get very far before one of the mutts catches up to me.

Teeth catch my leg and it's damn excruciatingly painful. The body armor crumbles under the pressure like a sheet of paper would've done when confronted with a scissor. I'd push my feet off but I'm fairly sure that would rip the tendons of my ankle, so I clench and am prepared to fight the thing away. At this point, I realize dryly that I must've been swearing aloud just a touch TOO loud because another arrow wheezes past my ear _and what the hell does she think she's doing?_

The beast slams down on the ground and spasms dead a couple inches behind me. I am thrilled for a whole second as my leg slides off its mouth. It would've been great but there are a number of others closing in.

For some idiotic reason, I stand frozen, breathing hard by the forest's edge. A good hundred feet of plain empty, bare land separate me from the structure ahead. It's risky, but what else am I supposed to do? Safety in heights and I can only hope that these fuckers can't climb, or at least that they are as clunky as me, because despite my size I am still vastly smaller than their massive, hulking forms, and that's an advantage.

The panic swirls harder and my insides feel like they have been knotted together.

Something, or rather, someone pushes past me and knocks my thoughts out of order. _What the?_! I barely have time collect myself or glance at the pair before a cacophony of growls snap at my heels.

"Run. _RUN!"_

"What?" I admit I'm not at my best because although I have already broken into a quick dash through the woods I can't quite help the shocked gasp, stupidly unable of understanding exactly what they mean. It quickly shifts into something harder and I have to fight back furiously on the urge to throw myself at pair and rip their throats off with my bare teeth. No, of course not. I don't think I am that mindless yet.

And I don't want to be known for imitating my mentor's feat to reach victory. That would be a low shot for everything I know I can do.

"You heard her." Loverboy speaks. He sounds subdued and unwilling.

Like I would never guess why.

"Why yes, I have." I scoff and my flail's handle is firm on my grip.

Maybe the leg wound is still holding him down. After all, I am sure he should have bled out like a pig within days of having me inflict that cut which should have severed through his tibial artery. Which means they have sponsors, somehow. From twelve? Unlikely, or maybe not, not with the act they've put up. One way or another, I don't have the time, or patience to consider the implications.

Yet, he's still alive and heaving like a madman a couple feet from me.

"Well then, you deaf? Run! RUN!" She repeats.

I snort and earn a glare from the girl which I match in intensity. _Why am I even having this conversation?_

I could end it all, but I don't. There's a pack of mutations high tailing our—my footsteps, so I don't pick a fight that I know I wouldn't be the winner of. I shake my head and a few bangs fall plastered, damp and bloodied, against my forehead.

"This is hysterical; you draw them all here and then expect me to go with your little plan?"

"Yes," she's close, and I see the bow in her hands shift back and forth, between me and the encroaching dogs. "Do you want to try and battle for your life with some dignity? Then run." She commands and my urge to throttle someone is back tenfold.

Dignity? If we weren't running through the arena for our lives, I would've tipped my head back and laughed. It's obvious she knows shit about either of these things and I am beyond fuming. There are no words to describe Firegirl and her nonsensical sense of morality. It's priceless. It's pathetic. And it's something that really wrenches my guts. Or maybe that's actually the internal damage.

Firegirl looks distressed now, like she's actually waiting for me to decide, as we dash.

"Fine, go!" I don't know what takes me over, but I roar at her and wait a couple seconds before adding: "Move it!"

I'm not sure if she's trying to get me killed by fleeing the scene with them, but staying here is not going to do any good either, so in a flurry of recklessness, I break through the space separating me from the cornucopia, both of them follow closely. Am I supposed to be their shield or something?

That's remarkably smart and I'm definitely at risk. The growls sound closer now, so close that I can imagine the creature's breath on my ear. I quiver at the thought of being caught by one of the dogs.

With that, I finally tumble across the final couple feet separating me from the structure ahead and practically throw myself at its walls.

Climbing the cornucopia is beyond trying; my sweaty, bloodied palm slides over the smooth metal over and over, and almost causes me to fall down a couple times. I scramble forward and I try to revel in the thought that at least this time around there's no mindless beast trying to grapple my legs down, but they are still too close behind. And if not munched on by razor sharp teeth, I don't want to risk being ran through by an arrow either.

It's easier said than done, however, I have the advantage of being first ahead. I don't help them up, though I don't push them down either, maybe twelve's words have really gotten to me and I do want to fight fair. Stupid.

Instead of collapsing, I sort of manage to prop myself upward against one of the structure's curves, and pull the flail's star against my hip.

They follow snug behind, shooting me these heated, half-dismayed looks. Clearly they would have preferred for me to get mauled during our race. I all but scoff. Really? Did they believe me to falter? I may be exhausted but am not that weak.

It sounds funny, even to me, how we all take a moment to catch our breath atop the metal platform. This is basic human nature: to flock together in moments of great danger. And these mutations, in a scale of how lethal everything around me might or not be, they definitely take the cake.

I've been taught to spin the moment around and use it for own gain, I know exactly what to do; just one move further. I want to, but I can barely put together a coherent thought. And there's this heat spreading through my abdomen, which I'm seriously hoping is not internal bleeding. I'm slipping. My eyes shoot wide open. I'm slipping. I force myself to ignore it. Focus. _FOCUS._

"So. What were you saying about dignity, eh?" I start by raising my voice towards the pair, gruffly. "I don't—"

"Don't you dare talk to her!" Loverboy interrupts and I snap at him.

"I'll damn talk to whoever I want!" It's true. "And I wasn't the one who started it." Again, this is mostly true.

Only these are the real deal, the grand finale of the fucking hunger games and I'm not expecting to have a long drawn conversation about any sort of topic.

They glance at each other noncommittally and I know they're whispering about me as if I can't hear it. I feign nonchalance and fiddle with the chain on my hand, only damn if I'm not perfectly aware that there's an arrow fixed on my Adam's apple and a string yearning for release.

She nudges his shoulder. It's not a meaningful gesture, though I still capture it from the corners of my vision.

"Okay."

Something bobs within my chest and I'm about to spring forward, to move off the weapon's focus, thrust into action, when an rather powerful arm catches my waist. _Oh, what the hell is he doing_? At least Firegirl would've had a chance to take me out before we sprung into action. Does he think he can overpower me like this? There's no time or effort to talk, I grunt instead.

I hit the floor with a huff and we roll for a moment, until his legs are pressing me down on the hard surface of the cornucopia.

"Really think you can do this?" I tense and try to taunt but my voice is a touch took husky from having my head pressed low against the metal platform. "Shit!" My shredded cheek is firm against what feels like ice and it fucking hurts.

My cry must've been louder than I thought because I hear his smug reply crystal clear. "Sure. I'll manage."

In response, I flex my arms and push him off.

We struggle for another moment before he captures me on a headlock. It's such a dismal attempt at one that I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes as that would give me away. Seriously, does he not know that the intent behind the hold is not to cut one's air supply but to actually force the brain into shut down from the lack of blood supply? Probably not, I realize with my throat tight, they are just kids from twelve. Doesn't matter, he's strong and I am breathless from the hold.

"You're really no good, twelve." I hiss.

"Better than you'll ever be, monster."

I so hate the nickname.

"…you wish." With that, I force myself to move, breaking off his hold and turning the tables. He's strong. I'll admit to that. But I'm stronger and it's either that or passing out from blood loss and exhaustion.

My flail is on his skull before she has the time to twitch a muscle and defend him. It's not instantaneous. Loverboy falls forward but I can tell he's not dead.

For some reason, Clove appears in the front of my mind. She's bold, vicious, brilliant, and a blade twirls in her hand. Am I hallucinating? _Damn. _She would've killed in one hit. I, on the other hand, am not neat enough. One of the star's spikes lodges itself in the top of his skull and he buckles down, convulsing and bleeding all over the silver metallic surface.

I hear a shrilly scream of: "PEETA!" as I move to dodge the arrow that really never comes.

So that's his name. There, you fucker.

For Clove, I tell myself. I miss her, but I am glad she's not here. I wouldn't have wanted to kill her. He, on the other hand, poor loverboy, he was doomed from the start and somehow, everyone knew that but him. It's with some sort of ironic snort that I nudge the twitching body aside before turning back to the real deal. The grand finale.

"Yeah, well. Told him." I say, feeling rather self-satisfied and glance at the growing pool of blood by my feet, before focusing back on the girl.

The weapon IS of medieval design, long, clunky and heavy: it's not as nimble as a sword might have been or as precise as a knife, though given everything that has happened tonight, I can say I am pretty damn glad for having picked it up from seven's body a couple days ago. Too bad she couldn't wield it and ended up with a broken neck and a shattered jawbone. Not exactly in that order.

"You bastard!" She screeches again and it's beyond unsettling. Her bow wavers in her hand, but the arrow is still pointing too close to my windpipe for comfort. One wrong movement and I'll be choking in my own spit.

I'm not sure why she hasn't shot me yet so I don't say anything.

We stand there in silence for a minute. Lover- Peeta's body is still splayed a foot from me,

And then, of course, cannon booms somewhere above us and the bow in her hand moves, shaking until it's pointing directly at my chest, my heart. I can't tell if she realizes I am wearing body armor or if she's just trying to make a point. I twitch, feeling queasier by the second as warmth floods my chest.

"How could you, you bastard!"

"How could I?" I say, and push the flail forward again, threateningly, "I lost her too, now you know how it feels to lose someone! Fucking sucks doesn't it?" I sure think so, though there are far worse things happening at this point.

"You didn't love her."

I make a conscious effort not to dwell on these thoughts.

"And how the hell do you know? Like you loved him, right? Like you even gave a shit about—" I don't have the time to finish because there's an arrow flying in my direction. It hits me straight in the chest and although it doesn't manage to pierce through the body armor, the impact is still considerably painful and nearly knocks me off my feet.

"Monsters don't love, Two." Her eyes narrow and she glares at me. I straighten up again within a second and don't catch it happening but she has a second arrow pointed directly at me. It doesn't surprise me that she is still pushing for the upper hand.

"Like you would know a thing about that, right? Who's the monster here? You could've had me at the forest." I retort angrily. "But you didn't. You drew me here and look what happened!"

"I didn't kill him! You did!" It's difficult to tell for sure but I think she's trying not to break down or trying to convince herself of my deeds. "You did!"

I _did_ kill him, there's figurative, as a well as very literal blood staining my hands and I don't regret it. After all, it would've been me in his place if I hadn't fought back.

I am, however, not entirely sure if I would've escaped the dogs back in the forest. So she really has granted me this easy victory, I realize as some sort of pride swells within me: in the end, I wasn't the one being foiled, after all.

"I can still kill you." She warns and I see one of her fingers twitch over the bow's string.

"Last arrow too, so you better make it count, bitch!" I taunt back, forcing myself to push the emotions away.

"Think I will."

"Yeah well, whatever. I don't see anything happening. So…" I drawl. "Time to join your precious loverboy."

"Shut up." She snarls.

And then the stupid arrow is hissing through the air, firmly pointed at a spot in my chest. Given how close we are from each other, only a couple feet separating us, ducking is nearly impossible. Although I move as fast as humanely possible, the projectile still hits me. I jump to the side and try to roll off its path, but it pushes against my shoulder and the pain which immediately envelops my upper torso is insane.

It's with some sort of thankfulness that I notice she has missed impaling my heart, mostly since I'm not sure the armor would've stood a second blow without crumbling away and leaving me exposed. As it stands, I'm neither dead, nor dying within the next couple seconds, however, every flex of my muscles is pure torture and I struggle to remain impassive for the moment I take to collect myself back up.

I raise my head and our eyes meet. Something fierce sparks between us. She stares at me with an expression that looks somewhere between apprehensive and just plain surprised that I didn't fall down or got skewered against the metal. I push myself back up practically gloating over her misfortune. _Too bad._

"I'm going to fucking kill you." The pain is driving me on edge. I'm beyond fuming and she shrinks back when I take one step forward. Maybe she accepts her fate, maybe not. Either way, I can't bring myself to care at the moment, if ever.

"Go on." She spits. She actually spits a mouthful of blood on a couple inches beside my feet. "Monster."

It's not the word but the fearlessness which practically pisses me off further, beyond breaking point. Fucking hell, is she never going to get it? She's supposed to be trying to scramble away, not stand there like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Glad to." And I advance upon her. Firegirl is standing perfectly still in front of me and I close the distance between us without a second thought. In retrospect, it might not be the smartest thing I'd ever done, but right now, I just want to end it all, regardless of what it might take.

And it does take a lot out of me, since every step forward sends blood curdling pain shooting through my limbs.

I catch her wrist and push her up. She doesn't fight me like I had expected. She's defenseless, just another scrawny kid, while I'm almost a whole foot taller and much heavier. Instead of panicking she stands there, seemingly frozen to the world. It's unsettling to say the least.

I briefly toy with the thought of pushing her down the edge of the cornucopia and waiting for the beasts to devour her alive, but decide against it. It really wouldn't be a very satisfying ending, I think.

I move one arm, curling it around her shoulders and flexing against her bruised skin while the other pushes the flail on her stomach. I could snap her neck within a moment's notice but I hold back and apparently, she returns the favor by continuing perfectly still. The closeness is making me lightheaded, though I don't pull apart, not when I have her so helpless on me.

"Let me go." She's not pleading and I'm not holding her in my arms. Not even a hint of _warmth_ makes it in the space between us. Something else does…

"Not sure, why would I do that?" I snort and it's weary and ice cold. Does she peg me as dim? Brutal, violent and… stupid?

She moves and I twist my arm. My heart pounds heavier and less certain when something cracks, loudly, in the space between us; suddenly she's hissing and spitting against my chest like a damn mad little shrew, which only further incites my reaction and causes my arms to tense around her. I realize, a couple moments later, that the sound was actually her wrist breaking.

It was never my intention to cause her the extra pain, though I'm not sure why that thought startles me.

There is no actual silence, the dogs are still yapping and snarling down bellow, yet somehow, her voice still manages to break through it all. It doesn't sound like the crackling wildfire I remember and although it's not exactly fearful, it hangs somewhere in between terror and resolute fierceness. She doesn't accept her fate and I'm not about to throw my life away to change it.

"Let me go." She repeats, this time sounding even more breathless than I feel.

Her braid is practically falling apart and in the breeze, her hair waves softly. It reminds me of Clove's and I'm so close I can gaze directly into her green eyes, which are a hue lighter than my now dead team partner. Hints of tears shine in them and I am thrown back by the realization. Fuck, this is not right. I hesitate. I NEVER hesitate.

"Okay, fine." I grunt at her, pressing my fingertips on both sides of her neck. For a moment, I push further: our faces are so close that I feel her shaky breath against my torn cheek and it might've hurt if my whole face weren't already so numb from the punishment it has suffered during the past couple hours.

I can read the surprise clearly as it flashes through her features when I pull back and let go of her body. I had seen that coming. I don't, however, expect the way she buckles down and falls flat on her knees a moment after. It is as if I had been the one holding her up and not some sort of impossible courage.

That's when I get it: everything that has just happened is a facade. Fake. She's terrified of me. She has a very good reason to, after all. I don't, or maybe I just can't relate to it. Either way, I try not to think about it. I will kill her. Despite the terror I have felt, and the staggering pain, my urge to break through and win is paramount. A girl from twelve isn't vital for my survival. Ending her life, on the other hand...

An idea pops in my mind, one that might please both the audience and, if that's even possible, end things on a better note. Or maybe it's just as dark, sick and twisted as everything thus far. I don't think so far.

"Close your eyes." I command, and draw the flail on my hands.

"What?" She asks, sounding exactly as if she were biting back on her confusion and keep the cool, brave outward layer from moments earlier. Though I can tell that it fails and falls through when her torso twitches on the floor and I see her hands try to cling to whatever surface they can find.

Maybe she's trying to keep her family the humiliation of seeing their kid beg for her life at the finale. I've watched it happen before and it's pathetic. So maybe that's her goal. I don't know, don't particularly care one way or another and don't want to think about it. _Not now._

"I said close your damn eyes NOW, or do you wanna watch as it slams down your face?" I don't, however, repeat the same mistake twice. Instead of trying to keep myself from snapping, this time, I growl coolly at her, slapping one hand on my hip. The chains connecting my weapon's handle to the morning star crack and rattle on my other.

She winces, either at the movement or the tone, and this time, she IS trying to move away, scrambling backwards until she hits one of the raised metal plates by the cornucopia's hood.

"Thought not."

And then we stop.

I am idle for too long. I'm not sure why I'm doing this instead of just breaking her down and finishing whatever show this has become. Right now, I can practically imagine the sick, sated expression on these Capitol's bastards, probably delighted at how I overpower and stupidly draw things on and on. Maybe I've overestimated myself. This was never my intent.

"You're not going to do it, are you?" She asks and there's an edge of something back in her tone, it's pitched and gasped. It screams of faux fearlessness, an act to throw me off and an attempt at hiding her own weakness. I'm sure of it and I want nothing more than to wipe it off.

"And why ever would I want you to live, twelve?" I sneer down at her kneeling form before moving closer, and lower.

I'm not sure of what I am doing, so I blame it on the blood loss and the internal damage, again. It's failing me, since whatever has happened to my insides - which feel as if they have been tied together and ache dully - it just not a very good excuse any longer.

What am I doing? A cold bead of sweat runs down the back of my neck and I exhale the extra air in my lungs, slowly.

She just stands there; perfectly silent as we look each other in eye. If there's anything else transpiring from this moment, I am apparently immune to its meaning. I'm fairly tired of this game already and do want to get it over with, so after another moment of absolutely nothing going by, I continue.

"Do you want them to scrape your brains off the metal walk? What would your family think? Your sister?" I point out, though I know I'm lying, the gamemakers seldom focus on tribute's bodies being flown away, but who knows, maybe they'll want to draw out the drama. I, however, don't. Not for a moment longer.

As predicted, it's obvious she hates me mentioning her family, from the way her faces twist onto a slightly less coherent and much angrier expression. Well, it's just too bad, though I don't push further, mostly out of not knowing and definitely not caring for the details. She volunteered, I remember that much, though my personal interest only reaches so far. Anything else is up for anyone to guess.

And that eleven on training. Oh that had me damn furious, back then. Now everything which happened before the games feels like a whole lifetime ago and makes less sense by the minute. Eleven. What does it matter? At the moment. _Nothing._

"Don't you dare." She screeches and I take notice of how desperate her voice sounds.

She moves frenetically and for a moment, I stand back, unsure of what exactly I am witnessing. The mad kick of a fight or flight reaction? Dunno. It's frenzied, a flurry of fabric as she reaches for the bow and points it at me, only there are no arrows so I ignore the movement as well as the stench of blood which reaches my nostrils.

"Yeah well, I'll dare whatever I want."

"Not with her, no."

Mostly, I just ignore it. It shouldn't matter, I'm sure there are a thousand and one cameras pointed at us and I shouldn't care, but I do. "One chance." I warningly push the star's spikes against her cheek, right on the purple bruises which blot her skin.

"For?" She asks, this time with nearly mocking, caustic sweetness. I am dangerously close to losing my grip on whatever is going on at the moment.

Of course she could try to run, but the dogs are out there and we both know they'd be on her before she'd managed to make it back to the relative safety of the forest's edge.

"Make it good." I shrug and take my time to drop beside her, crouching onto the metal and flattening my side against hers. The movement sends brand new ripples of fresh pain flying down from my shoulder and spreading everywhere. It's agonizing and impossible to ignore. I try not to act on it but we both see me shaking like a leaf for the second it takes me to pull together.

I just hope that the cameras haven't picked up on it. I have to.

She glances up, eyes narrowing and swallows down noticeably when I take a hold of her shoulder. "Like you'd care."

"Maybe." I reply. "Let's just get this over with."

It's not like she has much of a choice. Her wrist is broken in my hand and although I am not planning to choke her to death, the flail's chain is now wrapped around her throat. I push it off and swing it above my head, once.

"Okay."

Okay? OKAY? I don't give myself time to think of her choice of words or the fact that they nearly throw me off. For all I know, this is a ploy to get me to hesitate and if I allow it to work then she would have succeeded again.

Though I must have had taken too long, since she sneers at me and when eyes meet, for a second I can see the fire and brimstone in her green ones. This is why she is called Firegirl, after all. Though the thought doesn't strike my mind as forcefully as the resemblance with the other girl I used to know, who is as dead as this one is about to become. Unfortunately, for the fucking umpteenth time today, I am reminded of Clove.

"Just do it, monster."

I do. I can't wait for a second longer. I'm not sure who we're torturing here: is it me or her? After all, my heart is pounding loudly against the back of my head and I can hear the blood as it pumps, hot, in my veins. I feel like I might be the one dying and it only intensifies my sense of dread that, for some inane reason I wait a moment until her eyes have slid shut before, finally pushing myself into action.

"Good." I mutter under a breath, and then I let go, flexing my biceps to finally slam the flail down on her. "Good..."

It looks flawless, at first. The star whizzes through the air and my blood seems to spiral faster in my veins as I watch.

But she moves, she moves and the flail misses my perfect strike by inches. Instead of a neat blow to the side of her head - something I have practiced before and am sure I could pull off faultlessly - it lands somewhere between her chest and neck with a loud crunch which screams of shattered bone.

"What the hell are you doing!" Frustration spirals down my chest and I bellow at her.

I never get an answer because her body slumps forward against mine, her forehead touches my shoulder briefly and lolls down. At first, I think she might be unconscious, that I might have to repeat the gesture, so instead of lingering about with a half dead girl in my arms, I put my flail to use again.

This time, I make sure to aim correctly. It's still not as perfect as Clove's knifes would have been, and far bloodier. The star makes contact with the back of her neck. A gasp reaches my ears - of course she wasn't dead, damn – and I feel her body soften. It takes a minute before her muscles stop spasming and afterwards, I take another to set her corpse aside to rest on the floor, instead of gutting her open like I had threatened before. That would be more effort than I am willing to put into this. I breathe in her scent and it's not nearly as awful as anything I could've come up with. It's not sweet like other girls I've known, just musky, strong and nearly masculine.

My head turns upwards as a canon roars in the distance, deafening and I sigh under a breath I hadn't noticed I was holding. Finally.

It's almost too bad that she's gone.

Growls snap me off my own thoughts. The dogs, these hell-hounds are still yapping and snarling down below. One of them turns its nasty snout at me and for a split second, our eyes meet. They are vaguely familiar whereas far wilder: their anger and mindless viciousness surpasses mine, I think, though not without the satisfaction of knowing that no, I cannot possibly be the monster she accused me of being.

I had to do it. I had to. It was either me or her.

Ignoring the way my chest heaves forward, I call to them. "Wouldn't you like this?" My boot is firm on Firegirl's limp shoulder. The beasts actually howl up at me, like they are waiting for their meal. "Sure you would." My gaze sweeps across the other body splayed on the cornucopia, but I don't bother pushing either of them down.

I nestle down, feet away from either corpse and force myself to push my jacket off and throw it aside. The cold wind bites against my arms, but I barely have a mind to pay attention to that as I roll my sweater up my chest. I have to know.

As I'd feared, there's a large dark red blotch on my abdomen. I swear it grows larger the longer I look at it. Some sort of damage. I'm not sure and don't focus on it, not when there's a heavy pang of something panicky whirling through my chest. It's more physical than imagined. I feel like curling up and puking my torn guts out. I fight the urge off, though: I'm not about to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me falter.

And then I am being finally being crowned victor:

"And the winner... Cato, from District Two…" The tone booms, akin to thunder.

Yes, my name. Having known what is going to happen now, I barely pay attention to it or to anything else at all. I am alone now so I drop most of my guard.

For a long moment, which could have probably stretched for hours, my mind is… somewhere else. I stretch my legs over the metal plate beneath me and look up as the force field surrounding the arena appears visible, shining soft blue.

I barely pay any heed to the shifting, twitching form beside me, and only when a very human, very real and definitely pained groan reaches my ears do I snap my head around to look. My eyes widen immediately and I am sure I gasp, though the sound never quite makes it through to me.

_Jesus._ She's alive.

"Twelve?" I ask and my voice sounds strangely charged, unfamiliar even to my own ears.

She moves, or rather, tumbles onto her side and tries to reply with something but I don't understand a word of the gurgling. At least I think she's replying, though it's possible she's only crying out. I have no idea how she's not choking in her own blood, or that I missed her trachea, or how the fuck is it possible that her heart is still beating at all, after the canon sounded. I don't know, I have absolutely no idea and it startles the shit out of me.

Her eyes open, heavily lidded but I can see them, a swirling green hue and pain. Faint recognition flickers in them like a silent question.

"No. Not me." I murmur and if she realizes who I am, that I'm not her precious loverboy, she doesn't protest. Not when I move to stand or when I take one step closer and nudge her ribcage with my foot. "Sorry for not killing you properly." I realize aloud.

Only this time, I don't resume my blow. I don't swing the flail at her for once and for all, and I don't wait to hear the sick crunch of her brain being splashed against the floor. Instead, I sit beside her. There's no second announcement and I have no idea what to make of it. Surprisingly, I'm not angry. Maybe it's stupid - I am actually rather sure it is, but I've already been claimed the victor and I blame this on my current state of exhaustion. It's a good defense.

In the end, my hands are soaked in blood that is not my own and the emotion is far from positive.

I don't know what to make of this. She doesn't move to push me away, though I think that's because she's physically incapable of doing so, not quite a vegetable yet, but definitely on the way there. There's a gaping hole on the side of her neck from where the star pierced her skin through. I push back on the lump that has crawled up my throat and cradle her head with my palms. My heart is pounding violently and there's a sick headache brewing on the back of my skull.

I feel her pulse; I could end it all, I could snap her neck and lull her back into whatever world she has woken from.

I don't and I have no clue what is stopping me.

Where are they, the Capitol lapdogs who will take me away, anyway? Are they waiting for me to finish it all for her? For me to show her one last shred of kindness? Or is it kinder to let her live? A sudden, bitter wave of liquid insecurity floods my chest and I only manage to take a hold of it by forcing myself realize that cameras around me, still taking in my every angle and that faltering is something I want to fight against.

I don't know what to do, though. I've won, _now what?_ I've watched every recap of every game thus far. I know one too many victors from Two and I never expected to fail achieving my goal. If I had, I wouldn't be here. However, even that knowledge doesn't help me in this situation, not with her.

I'm pretty sure I am going insane and the games have gotten the best of me, but I don't let go of her body. It's a unique situation, one which _I _have caused. And that, well, _that_ can't be good. I should know much better but I still ignore my most basic instincts and keep her in my arms. There's something different about this and I don't question what.

Firegirl's limp and only a touch warmer than the icy metal around us, maybe dead, maybe not. Probably not, since her chest quivers in my hands and she moans something as I shift to a less painful position, sitting down atop the cornucopia.

"Yeah I know." I am damn sure she can't hear me, though I still nod down at her face. It's _mad_ but the slight warmth rolling off our joint bodies is nearly comfortable. Soothing_._

Yup. Definitely going out of my mind.

At some point later, a hovercraft appears high up above me, seemingly out of nowhere. I tense as it descends and wrap one hand around her shoulder, pushing her up with me. Given our relative weights, it's easy – too easy – to just carry her.

When someone waves at me to rush inside, I do it, stepping down the cornucopia and leaving the arena behind for once and for all.

I am the _sole_ victor but I am not _alone._


	2. Chapter 2 Part 1

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, alerts and favorites. They mean a lot to me. If you have any question about the story or would like to just chat, I'm always open for PMs! (Also let me know if I should reply to your review or not, I never know what is appreciated...)**

**Hope you guys enjoy the first part of this chapter! (a little note about the second at the end).**

* * *

There is chaos inside the hovercraft. At least a dozen _idiots_ surround me as I step inside, still carrying Twelve's dead weight in my arms. She's quiet again, practically unmoving and soundless even as I swing from foot to foot trying to push us onward without dropping her or buckling down myself. I only know she hasn't finally slipped off this world yet from the way her chest twitches every so often. It's pretty annoying, though I do put up with it mostly without a word.

I only have myself to blame.

It'd be pointless to argue, or snap at someone who can't understand a word of what I say. Plus, for the strangest reason or lack thereof, I'm doing this - bringing her with me - completely willingly.

I'm nearly done trying to tell myself what to do, since obviously that's not working very well. I make a point to reinforce just how stupid I feel at the moment. The word has probably lost its meaning from how many times I've thought it up, but_ stupid_. I am stupid. No. Beyond that. I'm insane for even thinking of attempting to bring her with me; least actually go through with it.

Still, there's a very angry part of me which wishes nothing more than to take her slashed throat in my hands and squeeze down, until all vestiges of light leave her eyes. I nearly shake, causing us both to topple onto the floor and catch myself just in time of avoiding that particular fate.

"Almost there." I mutter under my breath and push the urge to throttle her away. I keep it there: comfortably distant. The words are not directed at her, specifically. I know soon I will be free of the burden in my arms, free of the scathing pain burning straight through my insides from the weight of her pressed firmly against my wounds, but alarm has settled firmly in my chest; I do not trust the officials ready to take us away. Or whether or not their first action will be to put Firegirl down from her misery.

Somehow, this realization bothers me. I've had the opportunity to do so myself and end it all for her; however, I allowed it to slide by. If there are any reasons for my inaction, I cannot come with words to describe them. Now there's this thick lump trying to roll down my throat and a steadily growing sense of unease.

My eyes sweep across the crowd that has formed around me: the mass of bodies is thick, a touch too warm and stinks of sweat. It would be practically impenetrable if it weren't for how they part before me, the damn victor, just like they should. For that, I am mostly thankful. I cannot think of what it would be to fight my way out of here while still keeping her somewhat close.

_Stupid._

The thoughts thrust me back into the games; back when I was fighting for my life in the arena. They remind me of every tribute I have slain and of the mindless bloodlust I had felt. It's mostly gone now, though I nearly bend over and wheeze at the memories, right against the girl's chest, suddenly feeling very out of breath.

There are all sorts of people looking at me—us now. I can imagine what they find amusing about the scene. After all, it's not every day that a battered and bruised victor walks in with a severely injured, nearly dead tribute splayed in his arms. Men, women and… humanoid creatures whom I have never seen before and who cannot possibly be humans, but are probably just Capitol citizens, they all turn to stare. If I hadn't been used to this sort of thing already, I might have shifted uncomfortably. I don't. Hell, I've been trained otherwise and it shows _now. _

They still remind me of the mutts. Deformed, monstrous creatures. They are a very different pack, but one which I'm suddenly sure, still thirsts for my blood for a whole other slew of reasons.

I'm a still trying to consider exactly what sort of troublesome problem I might have dug my way into, when a hand settles on my shoulder, heavy and with only the tiniest hint of warmth. Its pressure is nearly torturous. I jump at first and whip my neck around so fast that the strain causes a muscle to snap out of place, it's both loud and – despite my wounds and the agony I was already in – excruciatingly painful. My whole shoulder burns furiously for a moment before giving way for the surprise to settle.

A lanky tall, _weak_ looking man is standing a couple feet beside me, fiddling with a piece of equipment on his hands. His frown is notoriously cold. "Cato. District two?" He questions and his tone is as clipped as his face. His eyes dart across my frame before settling on Firegirl, where she is laying snugly wrapped in my arms.

My eyes roll at him, earning a placid, if mildly curious glance in return. Who exactly were they expecting, if not me? Despite having known this already I still feel evaluated, judged. And I tense instinctively, pushing her further up against me. I ignore the pain and puff my chest forward in an attempt at looking more threatening than I feel at the moment.

"And the girl is?" The man continues. He comes up with a piece of paper from somewhere and notches a couple scribbles down on it.

"No idea of her name," I shrug and wince at how the movement causes new pain to erupt from my shoulder and abdomen. It's not the entire truth, I am pretty sure I can recall it if I put my mind into it. But I don't. Instead, I move to wipe some of the blood from the corners of my lips with a piece of my jacket; it's not the best thing ever, but it'll do. Because either that or my next words are causing a bitter taste to linger inside my mouth, "District twelve." I offer, nonchalantly.

He nods back at me and next time he raises his head, his gaze is focused on her. He watches her every movement – or really, the lack of them – with some sort of intent I cannot discern. I can only hope they aren't going to kill her.

And not because I would want her to live, either.

"Very well. Please continue."

Once again, the guy writes something down just before swinging his arms toward another area of the hovercraft, directing me somewhere that I can not see. There's a long corridor, though what lies beyond is impossible to determine. Especially with how intensely a string of bulbs glare down at me, shining firmly from above from some sort of net on the ceiling. They practically drown every object away from my sight by bathing it in artificial blue light. I blink at it as my eyes sting and water.

It's both enervating and fairly irritating, to walk across the vehicle while being nearly blinded and dragging another unconscious human being with me. Especially now that I walk without mostly direction. Wasn't there supposed to be people fussing over me? As spiteful as I am, I think I would have preferred that, at the moment.

Despite the volume of personnel I'd seen earlier, the silence now enveloping me is pretty damn eerie. Or maybe it's my guilt, from having failed to kill her properly. It's not interest, I don't think so, but I don't know what will happen to the girl and the lack of certainty annoys me. I've always known what is supposed to happen and now I just can't figure it out...

_Oh, wake up._ I have to remind myself that I am still in the hovercraft and haven't slipped in some strangely realistic dream. It looks and feels larger on the inside than it did when I was standing atop the cornucopia; No, that's just _not possible _and I dismiss the thought away. Capitol technology or not, these lights and the overwhelming sense of dread must be doing my head in.

And then, Firegirl says something - at least I am pretty sure I can hear her moan and shift in my arms. I bring my fingers down and wipe them across her forehead, only half tentatively. _Jesus_, she's burning up. I thought I might have a fever, earlier on, but she's at least a good couple degrees warmer than I feel.

I don't know how to respond to her short-winded groans, "Yeah I know it hurts; it's okay. They'll help you... I'm sure you'd hope for that, anyway." I end replying through the tiredness and the fact that I have no idea what she's trying to say. I shock myself with the sound of my own voice: soothing and careful. It doesn't and shouldn't matter; either she'll live, or she won't and I no longer have much of a say on either of those endings.

The thought still manages to make me feel stupid all over again.

I shouldn't panic, not when there's medical help all around me and a number of professionals trained and ready to help me at the drop of a hat, especially now that I am their victor. Or even at all. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me, now of all times is a terrible time for a conscience check. However, I still do and almost choke on a wheeze. My chest is tight and my breath painfully short as I _finally_ step inside another strangely too large, though not so obnoxiously lit room.

Another crowd waits for me there, the fake stench of perfume, combined with alcohol and chemicals just about causes me to dry-heave. The air around me rings of half whispered conversations, of which I don't understand a word. This time, instead of trying to avoid the people I make my way directly towards them. I stride as confidently as possible, fully intend on just dropping Firegirl and separate myself from my _stupid_ emotions or whatever else is going on; however, something stops me halfway through. I am being thrown these oddly careful glances from the Capitol's doctors. And fuck it. I'm done trying to figure out whatever _this _means.

I've fucked up, is that it? It's not like I can just drop her on the floor and walk away. Not any longer.

My stomach is starting to bother me again. What started as a dull ache has spread to a raging wildfire. It curdles my blood and wrenches my guts together, agonizingly so. I try to ignore it and press onward until I'm by the corner of the room and feet away from everyone else. I lean against a metallic indented wall and push my forehead on the cool surface, maneuvering the girl further up against my chest. The comfortable sensation is short lived and I turn just in time to hear as someone calls out for me.

"M'dear," one of the nurses has turned towards me and is carrying a large cup of steaming _something_ in her hands. Her voice is shrilly and even more annoying than Firegirl's. I hadn't realized that was actually possible. "I'm sure you are tired. You should take this and rest a bit." She sounds awfully kind. Thankfully the similarities end there, because there is nothing remotely alike between the androgynous blue haired woman and the unconscious girl wrapped around my body.

She's right, though. I'm beyond worn-out by the arena, especially by everything which has happened ever since the sun has set down. Apparently having a conscience is incredibly tiring, I remark to myself and draw some amusement from my own ideas. Did I not have one, before? I can't tell for sure. It's nice, for a change.

"And you should set your friend down over there," her eyes twinkle. If I didn't know better I would've thought that amusement shone in them. She points towards one of the free gurneys that are neatly ordered beside me and places the mug by some sort of table next to them.

Who the fuck does she thinks she is? _My friend? _I would've snorted if the movement wasn't so painful. I question whether or not they have watched the games before pushing the thought away. If the fact that I tried and nearly succeeded at murdering her makes us friends, then I'm not sure I'll ever get to understand the Capitol. Not that I want to.

"Sure. Glad to." I end up acquiescing with a small amount of bite to my words.

I'm still glad to take notice of the beds, and quickly make my way towards one of them. I am careful and Twelve drops from my arms without a sound. As soon as that happens, however, a group of a doctors appear from behind me and roll the stretcher containing her body away. I don't have time to protest, though I'm not sure I would've done so if I had the opportunity to, either.

Begrudgingly, I take a moment to watch the scene and realize that no, I don't have to waste another foolish brain cell worrying about this. I settle down by one of the stretchers and bring the mug in my hands. It's very warm. I take a sip of it and cough. Its contents sear down my throat and I urge to hurl it out. The flavor is sickly sweet, faintly fruity and just horrifyingly _bad. _It definitely doesn't suit my tastes. My abdomen gurgles loudly, muscles twitching, and that's when I take notice of _just_ how damn exhausted I feel already. It seems as if my limbs have gained a ton of weight within a matter of seconds. Maybe it's the drink. Yes, I am pretty damn sure that's the reason for my sudden dopiness.

"How do you feel?" She asks with that... strangely lopsided grin coloring her features. Perhaps I am imagining it, since it looks incredibly out of place. It reminds me of... someone. Someone I cannot recall at the moment.

On the other hand, my outrage is clear._ How do I feel? Is this some sort of joke?_ It sure feels like one at the moment but I'm so woozy it's difficult to come up with an appropriately scornful response.

"Just peachy." I say, stifling a yawn with the back of my hand, entirely taken by the haze already.

That, as well as cold, hard, uncomfortable metal digging against the side of my ribcage and a sense of derealization are the last things I remember before falling unconscious.

* * *

_There's grass – vivid green grass, not bloody crimson and plain wrong. It flickers in waves all around me, fading in and out of sight. It shouldn't move like this, however, I don't urge to question it. It just does. It's natural and that's the first thing I notice. The second thing is how sun shines harshly from somewhere above, a fleck of blinding white against the vast blue. I feel vaguely impressed by it; at least it has something to do with awe, I think. Though it stands out from everything else around me, the sea of grass still takes most of my attention._

_The movement is hypnotizing and for a long moment I stand completely still, watching as the damn vegetation rolls softly back and forth to the gentle breeze which has picked up. I don't question what I am doing here, exactly. I just am._

_It takes a long moment for me to snap out of it and come back to my senses, I think. It's difficult to tell for sure, with how reality readjusts itself with every second that goes by. I don't need to blink. Or breathe. It just happens._

_There's still grass. It's a touch yellower now. It feels as if a long time has gone by since I last moved. My muscles ache for release. Slowly, I flex my arms and bend my knees, shifting onto a less passive stance on my feet. I exhale slowly, releasing all air from my lungs._

_A bitter stench wafts around me and turn my nose away from it. Nasty. And that's not the only change: blood taints my lips, I can taste its heavy metallic pang crystal clear. I glance around me and my breath catches in my throat from the sheer surprise. There's a corpse standing feet from me. One of its limbs reach out toward me, in a silent plea. Whom have I killed? Certainty floods my chest. I'm sure I am the culprit, but I cannot remember why, when, or more importantly, whom._

_The form splayed on the ground and slashed open is painfully familiar but I don't recognize it. A short, stubby female form. That much I can easily tell, from how her hips stick out, even though there's a longsword impaling her belly to the ground. I can practically watch as her guts ooze from it. Her face is completely smeared in tones of red and purple. As if that didn't already make it difficult to identify, it's also disfigured, with a shattered jaw and mouth hanging open askew._

_In the end, I give it up. It doesn't matter. I don't care who she might have been. As of now, she's absolutely no one. She's dead, and that's not likely to change._

_As I walk, my feet slouch in blood that wasn't there moments before. I push the sword off her abdomen and wipe it clean with my sleeve. Pieces of flesh and coagulated blood hang to my clothes, spattering everywhere as I move. I'm sure there are flecks of red painting my face, but I ignore them. My foot comes down on the corpse's chest, there's no motive, nor hesitation. I push the heel of my boot on her ribcage and a faintly satisfied grin stretches in my face, at the crunch of bone and sinew. _

_Oh, I remember now. I'm hunting. I lick my lips and the metallic taste is overwhelming, it practically envelopes me whole. _

_My shoulders curl forward, onto a more predatory stance. I speed up into a jog, striding towards the only thing, the only landmark I can discern in the distance: the forest's edge, creeping dark green and which appears to grow in tendrils, spreading towards me. I ignore it, and after a moment I turn to glare up at the sky, annoyed. My skin is burning up and I swear I can see it grow red and blistered under the intense sunlight. It's fucking hot. _

_But oh, as my eyes dart across the cloudless horizon, I realize there's a force field hanging. I'd never noticed it before. It had been perfectly invisible. Now it feels overwhelmingly close. I can hear it buzz. For a second, that's all there is: the pressure of its dome and a soft blue glow which stretches everywhere I can see._

_For a very long time, I'm idle. I find myself staring up at sky; once again, mesmerized, caught in a daze by how it fluctuates, unstable. _

"_Cato!" Someone calls, breaking the silence and my whole body tenses; my neck whips around towards the sound's location. There's a weapon's handle firm and smooth against my palm and a burning intent on the front of my mind._

_Before I can think twice about what I am doing, I have broke into a dash throughout the woods. I run through a meadow, trees, a little rivulet, they all wheeze through me and I forget about them as soon as I've passed them by. I run as fast as I can possible. I am so nervous. _

"_Cato! Cato!" The voice repeats, sounding more and more familiar with every second gone by. Clove. It's Clove. Of course it's her. How have I been so stupid to not notice it before? I can practically SEE her face before fine, pale and careful and vicious and fucking hell-_

_It's entirely out of character but the anxiety erupts inside me akin to a raging volcano: red, molten hot and incredibly upsetting. My guts churn, knotting together just as my throat constricts. I can't breathe anymore. Why is this happening now? I don't know. I cannot think of anything but to reach my unknown destination as humanely soon as possible. And despite everything I am capable of, I am definitely very human still. _

"_Cato! Ca..." One last high-pitched, desperate scream and then the voice fades away. I try to be faster. I push my every muscle past the point of exhaustion. They burn fiercely and stretch forward, lending some more spring to my step._

_And I am still too slow, though. Just a couple seconds but still certainly too sluggish. It feels like I am threading through quicksand. Every step takes an eternity and instead of reaching my goal, the scene starts to reel before my eyes as if I were an observer and not actually participating in it. My heart skips a beat. There's only sensation now: something rushes, pumping madly across the back of my neck and I realize that it's actually my pulse. _

_Before me stands a large opening in the forest's ground. I recognize it vaguely as being the very same one where the cornucopia is located. In the arena, during the Hunger Games. I shake my head and a streak of hair falls, damp, against my forehead. It doesn't matter. My surroundings are not the thing I am paying attention to._

_She is. The parallel between her and the corpse from before is plain obvious to see. Maybe it was her after all, before. No. What am I thinking? I push the lump in my throat further down and damnit- I force my eyes to stay clearly open. Tears try to push past their corners but I fight them fiercely. I will not tear up and cry. Not when there are cameras watching my every movement. Not ever. And it has nothing to do with District pride, or honour, or whichever other word might be stamped on me._

_I feel aimless. She's laying on the floor, seemingly asleep. But I know better than to believe that. _

_I take a couple steps closer. The motherfucking grass is red, again. Her hair falls in a halo around her head. It's much darker than the pool of blood which has started to seep off her broken skull and contrasts deeply with her eyes. They stand out starkly green, half open and completely blind to the world. I am fuming now. Although rage is far from the only emotion coursing through me and wrenching my insides, it's the one I consider the most. _

_She dies. She dies and there's absolutely nothing I can do to stop it from happening. I was already too slow. Feeling awful about it will only slow me down in turn and cause my own death. She wouldn't want that, I believe. _

"_No," I still call, though there's no hope left in my voice. Of that I'm sure. My knees give up after a moment and I fall flat on the ground with a loud thud. I catch the back of her head, cradling it with my palms and ignoring how they are instantly soaked in the freshest shade of crimson I've ever seen. It's bright and surreal. It feels like I have dipped my forearms in paint. Thick, slimy, fake, paint. Now that's easier to withstand. Yes. Paint._

"_Please don't leave me." I plead even though I know this is inevitable. She's already gone. The cannon will sound within seconds and then I will collect myself and go back to the brutal, mindless predator I am known to be. "Damnit Clove. This wasn't supposed to happen." My bloody fingertips run across the bridge of her nose, moving to force her eyelids down and streaking a path of blood behind. I lean forward to ghost a kiss on her cold cheek, surprising myself with the gentleness of it. Damn- she was good. She was really good._

_I liked her._

_For some reason, this realization flickers in my chest even as I push myself up and away. She might've been scathing, vicious and just as mindlessly brutal as I am, but I really did enjoy her company. Longing burns in my chest as I step away._

_Only after what feel like minutes does my head turn back to take one last, longing glance at her. _

_And that's when I realize what, or rather, who I'm looking at. And what I see is not Clove. It's not her. It's not the girl I've known for years. Not the girl I've trained, fought and won with. There are two eyes staring at me, and they are a lighter shade of green than what I remember. Her hair is black, but has been tied in a long braid which hangs for her shoulders, slightly askew. This is not my district partner._

_Twelve._

* * *

Images reel in the front of my mind: of death, blatant gore and a lingering sense of hopelessness. Some sort of icy horror overwhelms me and my body shoots into awareness. There is, however, no point in screaming out, not when I'm perfectly conscious and uncertain of whether someone is listening, or even recording my every move. It has taken many years of training but instead of jolting up, I stand relatively calm and collected as I wake up.

The longer I remain immobile, the thicker the daze enveloping my body grows. It ties my muscles together in a useless heap of flesh. I feel powerless now and moving feels like an impossible task. Even opening my eyes is an uphill battle. They end falling half lidded and bleary from the lack of sleep and my tumultuous dreams, though nothing to see but an inky blackness. I try to prop myself on one elbow before giving it up and simply shifting onto a more pleasant position, lying flat on my back.

I'm not sure of my current location but soft fabric covers most of my body and the mattress is tender behind my back. I know for sure that haven't slept in such a comfortable bed in what feels like an entire lifetime but are probably just one too many years. It's probably just another amenity from being a victor and one I shouldn't be, but am glad for.

Who knew even killing machines needed their beauty sleep?

The vague sense of amusement is not lost on me. Though, I'm tired to think it through. And just far too tired - probably still under the effects of whatever drugs were shot into my system – to actually consider getting up; after a moment, my eyes slide back shut, and I relax back against the mattress.

It takes only another moment before I drift away, again.

* * *

**A/N: The second part of this chapter contains some... spicy material. If you all behave well, I might post it soon. That's to say, review!**


	3. Chapter 2 Part 2

A/N: Sorry for taking so long with this. Ended up rewriting a good portion of it. Thank you all for the reviews, favorites, alerts, and just for reading this story. A particularly special thanks to **ZebraPillows** for providing the most incredible commentary (and her stuff is amazing, seriously go read!) as well as to **Infinitearms** (go read her Kato fic now! It's awesome!) for their incredible, supporting reviews. Thank you so much!

As mentioned before, this contain **STRONG MATERIAL/QUESTIONABLE CONTENT** of sexual nature._  
_

* * *

_The next time I'm dragged into consciousness I find myself half sitting up, half lying down... somewhere. At least that's the simplest way of describing the sensation which takes a hold of me. Settling on a direction is not easy. Up. Down. None of it makes much sense now._

_It's probably a bed, I think. I'm just as groggy as I'd felt before last falling asleep, back on the Hovercraft, with metal surrounding me from every side. Unlike then, there is now a smooth, firm surface behind me, pushing against my back and… something else. It tickles the hairs on scalp; out of instinct and some sort of unease, I shift away from it, lifting myself further up and scooting along what is most likely a mattress._

_I relax back again. Comfort at last. I shouldn't seek it. I'm not really sure what I should even do. I just lie back and am still for a whole eternity._

_After a while, I come back to my senses again, I think. I try to look around and realize there's nothing to see. It's far too dim, even if I wanted, I would probably end up stumbling through all sorts of debris in my way, possibly. It's not a joke, just a danger I couldn't care less for, though it sort makes my inaction easier to stomach. _

_In reality, it really is too pitch black for being able to see anything. Within a moment my eyes are wide open but I can barely make out my surroundings, if at all. I push the realization away, it doesn't matter. I'm quite comfortable and that's enough for now. Forever, if possible. _

_It's easy to relax and an impromptu feeling of contentment bubbles mildly within my chest. I'm barely awake and my every muscle itches to be used, but my head lolls up against the headboard, my fingers brush the vaguely fuzzy comforter which rests beneath my palms and it's really quite enjoyable. I give it one half assed attempt at imagining what kind of material it might have been made of. For all I care at the moment, lingering in that strange place somewhere between asleep and awake, it might have been sewn together using human skin, though it doesn't feel like that. Skin tends not to be fuzzy. I think I'd know._

_It's probably cotton though I'm not in the state of mind to question it. I'm not even sure what state of mind I am in; surely not my usual sharpness. And yet, for some reason, I can't shake the idea that this scene is impossibly unreal. It feels far too idyllic. It's nearly endearing. Nearly but not quite._

_Sometime later, I snap off the reverie. Not out of my own doing. I'd like to say my own strength of will reaches that far, though right now? I'm not too sure. It's just… something feels strange, different. Surreal._

_There's a window somewhere; although I can't quite pinpoint its location, a breeze rolls in the room and it's fucking boiling. It catches me unaware, pushing against my cheek, hot and overpowering, though not entirely unpleasant. It's strange and I remember the satisfying feel of fresh blood on my hands, standing over a lifeless tribute, a wildfire roaring close by..._

_That's it. Fire. It has something to do with fire. When I open my eyes again I realize that there's fire cackling at the edges of the room I'm in. Licking up to the walls and setting the whole thing alight. A whole world chaos surrounds me now._

_The acrid stench of smoke reaches my nostrils. I'm still sure that the wind should be cool, gentle perhaps but definitely colder than this breath which burns against my face. Instead, I'm greeted with wave after wave of what feels like freaking molten lava pouring over my skin. I groan at it and turn away. _

_I raise my hand to touch my cheek. Instead of scars, the flesh under my fingertips is silky smooth and blazing hot. The sensation is unrelenting and I only lose a grasp of it when my every muscle starts to feel like it's been set on fire as well. _

_A long, sinewy bonfire crackles nearby. Am I in hell? Is this my punishment for what has happened in the games? I don't think so. This powerful heat is entirely too good. It's too damn blissful. _

_I tense as a form moves somewhere beside me. I don't see, as much as hear the rustle of fabric, over the chanting 'fire, fire, fire' in my ears. Instantly, I'm up. I feel lightheaded as the blood rushes to my head, hot and overwhelming. My heart thuds heavily against my ribcage, spreading the heat everywhere, and something intense coils within my belly. I can practically hear it sizzling as it shoots through my veins, up my arms and legs._

"_Who the hell is out there?" I call and sound more stupidly clueless than I have ever wanted to. _

_Shitty fire. _

_Because it's damn hot and there's something acute and exhilarating jolting down my spine. I arch forward; my muscles move off their own freaking accord and only manage to keep myself from falling down by wrapping my hand around the bed's bar. Its metallic surface now reflects the light in waves. I know this feeling, I know what it implies and at the moment? I hate it as much as the vague orange glow surrounding me._

"_Come closer and I'll rip you apart, bitch," I hiss into the darkness, bracing myself for the inevitable confront. _

"_Bitch? How brave of you to hide behind those words," It seems these words echo right back to me, crossing the room and sinking in my ears. I flinch. It's my own voice. Only not. It's higher pitched, but god so familiar. _

"_Yeah? Well, you gonna repeat that? Cause I'll tear you from limb to limb." _

"_So very brave, monster." Although I can't see her, I can practically imagine a pair of eyes rolling scathingly at me._

"_I'm going to fucking-"_

_I don't have, however, any time to correct my words or finish my sentence. As soon as I move, something falls over my mouth. I move my tongue just in time to catch a whiff of ash. I caught and push the object off my face, I realize that it's actually some sort of bra. It's difficult to tell for sure because as soon as I try to get a better look at it, the whole thing glows and vanishes away, crackling down to cinders. The flavor floods me, though instead of drowning the fire, it feels like the coal, fuelling it. I glance down. There are a couple fingers pressing against my lips, just as scorching hot as everything else. A whisper rings in my ears._

"_Did you think I'd give up?" _

_At first, I don't recognize the voice. It's fierce, yet understanding and just as hot as everything else around me, but fucking gentle._

_It's not Clove._

_I wouldn't have wanted for it to be Clove. I'm perfectly aware of where this is supposed to be going and wouldn't have enjoyed for it to be her, here with me. Not like this. She would have deserved better, but god am I surprised to be caught thinking of her again. A pitched hiss escapes my lips at the faint memories reeling through my mind. Where is Clove, anyway? I push the uncertainty away and focus on the moment._

"_Of course not." I retort. I'm not sure why I care to defy her just yet. I just do._

"_Sure about that?"_

"_Yeah I'm sure." I reach forward blindly, trying to reach her and rip her to shreds before anything else can happen. "Be careful, might hurt yourself," I taunt. I still can't see much of her face from where it's been obscured by the shadows… which are, ironically, cast by the fire. There is something incredibly obvious in here, though I can't quite grasp at it, yet._

"_So overconfident. And unimaginative. You ought to be careful or you're going to end up causing yourself more trouble than you want."_

"_So what?" My arms twitch. "Just shut the fuck up. And you'd care if I fell down and died, because…?" I glance at the blazing flames darting across the floor and try to remind myself of how real of a possibility that is._

_She—whoever it is, remains quiet and I take one step forward into the shadows._

_As I watch, a flame comes into existence somewhere in the space between us. It's both physical and…ethereal, I guess. I don't think I've ever seen something as difficult to explain. I know this shouldn't happen, though I'm not certain why. It's some sort of incandescent light and it just hangs in, illuminates the girl in front of me, casting shadows over her form, in sunset-y tones. _

_I see her. _

_The look on her face is something out of nightmares. The ones I shouldn't have. It's haunting in how she smiles – actually smiles, a full blown, piercing smile - her lips are full and tempting. Where the hell are these thoughts coming from? Why do I want to take her for myself right here and now? Annoyance brims somewhere within me, fuelled by my lack of memory. Who? Who is this? Why the fuck can I not remember?_

_I try to recall her name and fail miserably at it. Recognizable albeit distant, and it's not just a part of my subconscious either, not entirely._

_She's familiar, though; someone I have definitely met before. Oh I know. Her name burns acidly on the tip of my tongue but I cannot recall what it might be. Before, this sort of thing would've infuriated me and although there's a strange fire coursing through my veins now, it's not anger which takes a hold on me. Because there is someone, or something tainting my... well, whatever it is._

"_I suggest you get your ass off my dream." I threaten and my hands are inches away from taking a hold of her shoulders and physically hauling her away when I freeze._

_I can't tell if it's the scenario- the dream granting me this sort of control over my usual self. Because it is a fucking fantasy, right? I'm only half aware of it. Unsure. Who knows? Definitely not me. Maybe that's why I find myself staring at her. My eyes narrow and I am completely shameless in how they glint darkly as I take in her every form: her pale olive skin as it mirrors our bright lit background, or the dip in between her breasts, perky, plump delicious looking. I wonder how they'll feel in my palms, how her nipples will taste beneath my tongue?_

_Exasperation spirals across my mind and my teeth fall firmly together, jaw clenched shut. I look at her, taking her features in with a predatory intent that is not even mine. What the hell? Instead of retreating, as anyone would have done, though, she grins, light and smooth; mostly just fiery, directly at me. I still cannot recognize her and the uncertainty starts to curdle within my stomach._

"_You have no idea of what you're doing." I grit out. I have no idea either._

_One of my arms rests beside her shoulder, pressing heavily on the wall beside her body. I'm so close I can feel her breath, a touch colder than the fire enveloping us both, as it slides across the side of my face. _

_She leans towards me, brushing her cheek onto the top of my chest. Her back is flat against the wall and I am one inch away from pinning her. The sensation is not a bad one, though I still snap at her, for intensifying the fire burning inside of me. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"I growl, though it sounds more profound than I intended._

"_Monsters don't love, Two. Remember?"She teases lightly, pushing one finger against my jaw and swiping it across my skin. The action sends a jolt of scalding desire running through my muscles and pooling between my thighs. _

_No, I don't. I cannot make sense of what kind of shit she's babbling about. And I don't care. I don't think- can't think of the last time I've been this stupidly hard. My erection presses against her abdomen. It's been a while and the fact that she is the one eliciting this reaction out of me just pisses me off. Fuck, anger swirls everywhere and it further fuels the blazes snapping around of us._

"_No clue; are you going to explain?" I scoff back, though I'm not entirely sure if I want to ridicule her actions. After all, they feel so damn good. This is purely physical but not something I can ignore. "Maybe you should..." A fragrant, slightly spicy odor reaches my nostrils, I inhale it deeply. It's potent, but nice. "You know, tell me why you're here before I decide to just have my way with you."_

_Ambiguity and fire both toll my mind. I don't know what I intended to do, or say any longer, but I'm eager to explore._

"_Shut up, monster." _

_No, you shut the fuck up, bitch. Some sort of desperation grows within my chest at her words, but I don't dare voicing it out loud, least it breaks the moment or whatever this actually is. More important than taunting her back, I want to know the answers to my questions. I need to, before the fire ravages my body and… We look at each other; some sort of tension stretches in the inches of distance between us. I raise my eyes and take in her expression, burning into her deep green ones. I almost tremble from the scorching intensity of her gaze. _

_It feeds the fire growing around of us._

_I relinquish control of my actions for a second and it's damn wonderful. Her hand curls against the side of my neck. She's smaller than me and stands almost a whole foot lower, having to lean upward to touch me. I don't know what possesses me to do it, but we swap positions and I allow her to push me onto the wall. It's not like I have the clarity of my mind to complain, not when her mouth is pressed right onto mine and it's mindlessly delicious; the fact that she manages to push me over and turn the tables, taking the upper, only further elicits my reaction. Hot. _

_Her lips are swollen, creamy, slightly bitter and oh so fucking good against my own. I kiss her, taking a hold of her lower lip with my teeth and she kisses me back, just as furiously. Our tongues meet and just as that happens, something clicks. Suddenly, I know who she is and cannot imagine why it has taken me this long, and this musky, lingering flavor, which now swirls across my tongue to realize who she is. It makes no sense. I have never tasted it before, and yet, it's remarkably familiar. I remember her smell, perhaps. Her name burns in my mouth: Twelve. Firegirl. _

_The girl on fire; finally something makes sense around here._

_Now there are flames flickering around us, licking up my flesh with lasciviousness, igniting something within my core and taking a hold of my limbs. They shine in a new light, both figuratively and literally. At least if the golden blazes surrounding both of us are anything I should rule myself by. I should be fighting back the obvious pain, only there's none to be felt. Instead, a magnificent pressure in the pit of my stomach makes itself known. I tip my head back, breaking the kiss, completely breathless. Everything is a blazing holocaust, embers rain over my head. I can see them spark and die on the corners of her eyes. Deep, vast green versus searing red._

_I should push away, I should slam her right onto the wall and put stalk away, or hurt her. I should… there are a number of actions I should be taking and I ignore every single one of them. I want her, desire every bit of her scorching body pressed flush against my own. Perhaps it's a selfishness, but one I cannot deny myself at the moment._

_I take a hold of her wrist and my fingers graze hungrily over every inch flesh I can reach, just as my mind reels. It's insane. The speed is intoxicating. I don't struggle with it for even a second longer. We're both quite nude and as much as I wish only to reach for her windpipe and asphyxiate her – like before, right? – I don't. Instead, my urgent need presses against the inside of her thigh, throbbing hot. _

_I push my mouth back against the side of her neck, pressing warm little kisses across her slick flesh and slowly make my way down. _

_Her muscles tense under my fingertips. I take a hold of her hips, lifting one of her legs around my waist. She shifts and moans onto me. There's no room for uncertainty. My hand slides down her torso as my eyes take care to devour every sliver of skin I can gaze at. I memorize the sinuous muscle defining the curve of her flaring hips, it's enticing, alluring, and my fingers twitch to run along the length of it__._ _Instead, I cup her breast in between my fingers, stroking it in slow, heavy circles. She gasps; a breath catches in her throat just as her head lolls backward, baring her throat to me. Taking the opportunity, I catch her more firmly with my arms, she pulls me closer and I move to suck on her, until there's a dark red hickey on her otherwise fair skin._

_Once again, my hand falls down and I push even lower. I roll slightly on to my side so as to not crush her under my weight and press my hand against the inside of her legs, parting them open. "Think you can handle this?"I groan. Whereas the tone sounds strange, oddly careful, to even my own ears, I don't bother keep myself in check and drag my fingertips against the outside of her sex , before simply sliding my whole palm down and rubbing it, in painstaking circles against her. I don't know what I expect but she manages to surprise me. _

_She breathes in a myriad of tiny gasps as my digits dip lower, stroking her before sliding in her; and practically writhes, her whole body twisting, her hands forming claws and hanging onto my shoulders as I stroke her, once, twice, before she's panting against me chest. _

_It's not that much. Not yet. But of course, after a moment, I figure that might be enough and since my goal wasn't even teasing her, not when my own aching need is this great already, I drew lower. I ease my digits lower, to her clit and stroked the moist flesh in a slow, teasing rhythm._

_As expected, she reacts to it, immediately and intensely. "Cato," she stifles a whimper against my collarbone, breathing hot on it. She suckles my neck, meticulously going over every inch of skin; I cannot lie, I enjoy the feeling and heat of her tongue as it flicks swiftly against my pulse a touch too much. Damn, how is she even this good at it?_

_Holy shit. _

_My name on her lips sends the fire deeper within my veins. Still, the word 'monster' appears in my head. I'm a monster, yes? I remember that. I should act like one. But now she's using my name. My fucking name. And it lends a whole fresh new depth to the situation, one which I don't welcome. No thanks._

_Not quite noticing what I am doing, my hands continued on automatic, driven by the words and desire to continue, which I try to bite back on. It's too intense, too bright as it claims my every move. I can't stop and right now I want nothing but to have her bare and writhing under my body. _

_Within a moment, I have dragged us both back to the bed and stand kneeling in between her legs as she arches onto the mattress. I tilt my head forward and claim her lips in another kiss as my hands move to stroke her. My cheek slides across the space between her breasts and, idly, I take one of her perky nipples in between my lips. Jesus, she's so hot under me. I'm not sure how I'm expected to have held back._

_Her forelegs are still holding onto me just as her fingers try to cling onto whatever part of my body she can reach. It almost feels like a battle is going on, though this is a whole different kind of war; our bodies move in synchrony, grinding together. Her hands are flat on my sides and cling to me as I move us over the mattress. She's splayed open for me but I hesitate for a moment. _

"_Tease," she tries to laugh at me and ends up just moaning, open-mouthed and plain hot; my eyes narrow at the sight, though I continue licking my way down her chest, before finally pushing myself back. _

_I don't give her too much time to take whatever she meant by that incredibly erotic moan back nor bother with preparing her further. She's quite wet against my stiff length already and I am far too gone to care. After all, isn't this what we do? Hack away and try to hurt each other? I push her stomach down over the damp comforter._

_She trembles and slides her hand against the top of my chest. It's not gentle, quite the opposite, or at least, that's the idea. After all, she groans or gasps, sounding pained, and tries to hide her face against the crook of my neck, hissing expletives onto my flesh. I don't budge; I may not be into needlessly, consciously inflicting pain, not like this, though the spectacle is still incredibly arousing._

_I dig my nails in the flesh of her inner thighs and ease the blunt head of my cock against her entrance, forcing it inside without much warning. It's slippery, searing hot and pretty damn incredible, the way her muscles grip mine. I am relatively careful to stop it from ending too fast, so I don't press much further than only a couple inches in. _

_I stop, half my whole body shakes madly as I press one hand beside her on the mattress whilst the other holds the side of her face. Her thighs shiver under me and her muscles clench and relax every couple of seconds, gripping my length tighter. If she's fighting back some sort of pain, I can't tell whether or not I'm the one causing it and I can't find it in me to care, not when it already feels this damn good. God, it's so amazing._

"_Okay?" I'm not sure why I'm asking instead of just having my mad way with her. I still do._

"_Don't talk, just fuck me," she sort of grunts and moans at the sound time, sounding just as rough and breathless as I am. I don't consider how incredibly out of character the sentences sounds as it rolls, effortless, off her lips. This is my insane dream, right?_

_Damn. In response, I push her hips further up, forcing more of myself into her. It's a relatively awkward position we found our way in, with her ankles resting on my shoulders and fucking- whatever thoughts lingered in my mind fly haphazardly off it as she moves and my erection sinks further in, squeezed by her inner walls. The pressure is delicious and my eyes roll back in their sockets from just how incredible the sensation takes a hold of my body. _

_I should hate myself for this. I'm completely insane to realize that no, I don't. Instead of dwelling on how much I should stick a sword down either of our throats, I draw back, muscles flexing and thrust further in. My cock is buried to the hilt within her and she's a couple notes off a full blown scream. I repeat the action and she practically mewls, holding my biceps under her sweaty palms and gripping onto them. _

_I don't remember doing it, but her upper chest is covered in marks. Then again, there are many things I can't remember doing._

"_Turn around." I bark, huskily. It's not a plea; an order. I ran out of oxygen what feels like a whole lifetime ago and my heartbeat slams aimlessly inside my chest. But even that doesn't manage to stop me. Not with the wildfire raging around us, empowering my every movement._

_Her nails graze the taut, damp muscles on my abdomen and I lean into the touch. Our foreheads touch and while a grin stretches my face wide, her expression is one of absurd pleasure. That I have inflicted upon her. I'm not sure if I appreciate the idea, though I definitely go with it._

_After what feels like a very pleasurable eternity, I finally slip off her, immediately moving a hand to stroke my own length as I wait for her to move. She does, not turn around immediately, though. She stretches like a cat, blinks and flushes up at me, dark crimson and entirely inappropriate. _

"_Now is not a very good time for modesty," I bark, quite amused at her sudden fickleness._

_She doesn't reply. It doesn't upset me. I prefer her to be silent, anyway._

_It takes most of my will-strength not to just slam right back into her and I try to focus on something else, drawing the tips of my fingers across the side of her body. We're so close and it's so damn hot. Sweat glistens slickly on both of us against the firelight._

_Through the haze which has settled in my bliss and lust addled mind, I find that I really don't have the slightest idea of how to voice my current intentions. She seems to take a notice of my indecision and wriggles against my body._

_But I fucking need it too. I don't want to see her face when I finish this. I push my palm against her shoulder blades and she arches into the touch. Her skin is hot and smooth against my calloused fingers just as her spine curves up against me, forcing my length to slip a couple inches deeper inside of her and oh god. It's just as impossibly good as it was minutes earlier. Better now that I don't have to fight to imagine this is someone else, that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me fucking this girl. The Firegirl._

"_Christ, you're hot." I admit, rasping throatily. Right now, that's the whole truth._

_I am so close, I can feel my erection throbbing, oozing thick precum inside of her I move one hand around her hip and push toward her lower lips, wanting to stroke her clit again, to watch her shiver and erupt under me. I…_

* * *

I wake up in darkness again. In a flurry of movement. Fire lingers in my mind... shit! Only this time there's a gasp and a silent scream hanging, pungent and damn hot on tip of my tongue. I'm not sure whom I was trying to call for.

The sheets are drenched in sweat and cling to my torso and legs. I'm sure that if someone was looking, they might have been able to see my every muscle perfectly defined against the fabric, as well as the slight tenting around my groin area. Thankfully, the room is pitch black and engulfed in equally absolute silence.

Pushing the fabric away, I stand and stalk off to the bathroom annex to mine. I don't want to be silent though my footsteps are careful and practically soundless over the bare, waxed wooden floor. For once in my lifetime, I am blaming all my years of training. They can go burn in hell for all I care at the moment. I urge to be loud, to drive my elbow into the mirror hanging beside me on the wall. To watch as it shatters to pieces. I don't. I am wired, alert but remain stiff and quiet out of instinct.

And I hate it.

It's only when the water touches my skin, raining upon me in short bursts, that I blow. It's insanely cold, but that barely fazes me. Everything: a number of bottles, flasks, and other items fly to the ground, swatted aside by my arms. Many different liquids, shampoo and whatnot, mingle by my feet, where their containers have fallen open. Shitty crap. It's only then that I allow myself to stop. I'm coming loose at the frays. The expletive feels like nothing at all, but: fucking hell.

I'm done. No more giving a shit.

I'm not sure when it started, but it has to end now because this is bloody absurd and senseless and I pace and pace, grinding the thoughts into a million pieces and pushing them off.

She'll die and I will have nothing to do with it. I should have killed her, of that I am certain, though none of this will weight on my conscience, or lack thereof.

Why do I feel the need to convince myself, then? Sweet fucking jesus.

Later, instead of going back to the bed, I linger by the little balcony annex to my room. The thought was to catch some fresh air, but the Capitol is polluted beyond belief and maybe I don't even know what fresh air IS so I shouldn't be picky about this. Still, the shit stinks and I fucking loathe it. I give up after a minute and slam the glass window shut again, forcing the nasty, pungent smoke to stay outside.

No memories this time. The smoke is familiar, obviously but I've forgotten everything about that dream already. I have. Seriously.

It doesn't plague my thoughts or anything, _of course not. _I roll my eyes at myself and push my palm against my forehead. How many times have I thought it now? I've lost count. _Stupid._

Despite the sarcasm, I'm pretty pissed by now. I fall on the couch with a silent huff and glare at the blank, black screen which stands hanging from the wall opposite from me. Although I am not in the mood to listen to someone babbling on and on about any sort of topic, I still turn the tv on, pushing my thumb on the controller harder than I was supposed to, since it rattles and cracks under my grasp. The screen flashes at me, waving in that strange way televisions always do before settling on a picture.

It's a perfect air-view of the arena the day before the games have started, I think. It's too... beautiful, too peaceful, the grass is lush green and there are no flecks of red or burnt areas dotting its expanse. However, the similarities are obvious and I stiffen; it lasts only a second. I relax almost immediately after, though the damage is done.

I unwind slowly.

Another recap... I'm used to those. The only difference is that they ought to be babbling about me now. The commentator, which sounds unfamiliar, drones on and on about something. I barely catch a word of it.

After a while my eyes fall shut again.

* * *

**A/N: I know where I want to go with this story but I am totally not feeling it at the moment. Please review? I'd appreciate it!**


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